mirage

i paint yellow ochre desert heat
across you with my eyes.
reclining, your hair floats.
your hands express your languor.

this is the mist of magic-time
extended through the day.

i imagine.
sweat beads on your outstretched breasts
evaporate instantly.
you expose yourself to me because i like it.

champagne drips from your pubic hair.
i drink.
storms swell in the distance.

sandstorms, we think, at first, but we don't care.
the heat is building and must get hotter.
steam is coming from the inside. we create it. it does not become sweat.

we create water. we create life.
i enter you. the storm rages.
the herds stampeding, the air scorching,
the heat so hot convection
starts in us and explodes outward,
pulling the heat so fast the heat becomes cool,
the air swirls, the rain
comes down.
the steam we create becomes rain.

and the plains are fed, the dry is dead, the flowers bloom.
we create life.